Summer
by Tacel
Summary: He was supposed to feel elated, relieved, sad, something, but instead...nothing. Harry/Hermione friendship story, post-DH, but ignores the epilogue.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: I'm working on Potential, I assure you, but I've been struggling to find the perfect way to transition to the next part of the chapter. Expect an update soon-ish, depending on how quickly inspiration hits! To tide you over, I present a little story that's been buzzing around my head for the past few days. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter lives within the imagination of a Ms. Rowling, and I only borrowed him in order to allow him some quality time with Hermione.

Summer

As a child, Harry had always liked summer. Dudley had always been at a friend's house, or beating up neighborhood kids—away from him. Aside from the usual chores, the Dursleys tended to ignore him, which gave Harry a little time to play outside without fear, and a imagine a Dursley-free world.

Then Hagrid came along, and suddenly, summer meant imprisonment: separation from this incredible new world to which he now belonged. For Harry, summer had meant endless waiting and chores and they had never been pleasant once he started at Hogwarts.

And now—what? Voldemort was gone, defeated forever; he never had to see the Dursleys again. Harry was a permanent fixture in the Wizarding World thanks to his increased heroic status. So, really, he was supposed to feel delighted, relieved, delirious with joy (with, of course, a small helping of sadness for the friends he lost). Instead he felt—

Nothing.

Not the apathetic about the world nothing, or the cold-hearted world-be-damned nothing, or even the soulless nothing of a Dementor's victim. Rather, there was the strange sensation of having no idea what to feel or think about anything. Voldemort was dead—Fred was dead. Sirius had been avenged—Lupin was gone. Ginny waited—and suddenly he wanted nothing she had to give. Ron and Hermione survived—but were they moving closer together and further away from him?

The possibility of further isolation had consumed any and all other emotions for the past week, and Harry was no closer to figuring out whether or not anything was going to happen. Even though both he and Hermione were staying at the Burrow (which was busier than usual as it underwent repairs), her treatment of Ron hadn't changed a bit, and Ron didn't seem eager to do anything either. Perhaps he should have found this obsessing over his friends a little telling, or even just plain weird, but Harry was far too immersed in these broodings to actually see through the melancholy and do anything.

Not that this behavior had gone unnoticed. Even as the Weasleys grieved their own loss, Ron and Ginny constantly shot Harry concerned looks, though they never could quite make sure it wasn't just mourning like their own. Hermione had opened her mouth to say something several times now, but would simply shake her head and change the subject. Harry wasn't sure if he appreciated this or not.

But he certainly wasn't a fan of the sudden downpour, as it was interrupting his walk around the Weasley property. He ran for the house, but running didn't prevent the rain from drenching him before he reached the safety of the kitchen.

Mumbling in disgust, he pulled out his wand to perform a basic drying spell, but in his distraction only managed to shoot a few sparks at his shirt.

"You'd think the Boy-Who-Lived could dry his own clothes," Hermione remarked dryly, her sudden appearance startling Harry, who promptly shot her something between a frown and a weak smile. Unfortunately, this combination looked rather like a sneer, and Hermione raised her eyebrows at the strange expression, but as offered her help as usual,

"Here, let me do it," and promptly ensured Harry's clothes were once again dry.

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry remarked lamely, and made for the stairway.

"Wait just a second, Harry," Hermione suddenly added, and he halted on the first step.

"What is it?"

"I just…" Hermione hesitated, "I just thought maybe we could talk. It seems like it's been a while since we last spent some time together."

Had it been anyone else, Harry would have agreed upon some vague 'later' time, and proceeded upstairs. But after spending all his time with her over the past year, Hermione's fear that they were growing apart felt a little strange, and he couldn't help but agree to stay.

Hermione gestured to the stool beside her, and offered the most sincere smile he'd seen in a long time. Harry managed to smirk back as he took the seat, and for a moment they simply sat there, enjoying the comfortable kitchen and the rhythmic noises coming from all over the house.

"Where are the Weasleys?" asked Harry, suddenly aware of how strange it was for the kitchen to be vacated of all red-haired persons.

"Family visit to George, or something," Hermione replied matter-of-factly, and Harry found the reply unusually vague for someone so exacting as his best friend.

"Or something?" echoed Harry, curious about the reasons behind the avoidance.

"I was a little preoccupied when they told me," she replied coolly, and frowned when Harry grinned. "What?"

"I just thought it was funny that something could distract you so much that you would forget something."

"I'm not allowed to think about other things, then? Is that it?" she replied quickly, and both of them knew she hadn't really taken offense.

Her ability to understand that Harry's teasing wasn't a challenge (unlike Ron's, perhaps) was yet another reason to linger in the kitchen—they didn't have petty arguments, except in jest, and such a friend was almost as powerful a reason as the telling fact that Hermione had to speak so overtly about their friendship.

"Thanks," remarked Harry, totally disregarding the impending 'argument,' and with no coherent explanation for the sudden display of gratitude.

"For what?"

"For being there, I guess." It seemed like a bad idea to admit he didn't quite know why exactly he felt the unexpected urge to express gratitude, and she seemed fairly satisfied with his reflex answer.

"Harry, you know I'm your friend. You don't have to thank me," She replied, though judging by the pleased look on her face, Hermione didn't exactly mind, either.

"I know," and this time he really smiled back, which pleased Hermione so much that she slid off her stool and engulfed him in a hug.

"What was that for?" He mumbled into her bushy hair.

"For caring, of course," Hermione replied as she pulled away (though her hand still gripped his right arm), and glanced over his shoulder to look outside.

"It's stopped raining, by the way," she added, and the two walked outside hand in hand.

Because sometimes words aren't really necessary, and Hermione's unwavering friendship had fixed what Ginny's admiration and Ron's jokes could not. Perhaps that was why she came first.

The significance of that decision went unnoticed by Harry, as they enjoyed the sudden outbreak of sunlight, which made the greenery sparkle all around them.

And Harry had a feeling summers would be good again.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: To be honest, I'm not getting very far in the next chapter of Potential. Lucky for you, that means I'm revisiting this story and adding a chapter for Hermione. She certainly deserves her say in the matter, right?

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Part II: Summer Showers

* * *

_Love is innocent and coy;_

_It sounds like tinker toys._

-Dabney Morris, "Love Part 1: Jars"

* * *

Hermione had never craved solitude so much in her life.

She had lasted about two weeks in the Burrow before becoming exasperated with every member of the Weasley family that still resided there— in addition to exchanging a few harsh words with Ginny and whole arguments with Ron (of course). It wasn't that she didn't care about them or empathize with their grief. But Hermione needed her space, and this all-engulfing 'togetherness' was driving her mad.

That stupid, stupid kiss with Ron hadn't helped matters either. She'd really screwed up there. But really, Hermione had just been so desperate to make things right again, and after being mad at Ron for so long for leaving them (it still made her a little angry just _thinking_ about it!)…something about the intensity of what lay before them had given her the impulse to do it.

Too bad Ron didn't or wouldn't understand that.

Though if she was being honest, Hermione wasn't spending that much of her time thinking about the Weasleys at all, except in passing. Harry's apathy was far more startling than her accidental love life with Ron.

She hated being distanced from Harry, figuratively and literally. Probably because they had spent so much time together over the past year, Hermione would always add as an afterthought, because any alternative was simply too much right now. There were funerals to attend and celebrations to visit afterwards (it was bordering on sickening to have to change attitudes so quickly), not to mention just trying to recover from the horrors they had seen at Hogwarts. Being told Harry was dead…she still couldn't think about it.

"Hermione?" Ginny's voice broke the quiet, and Hermione clenched her jaw to keep from expressing her annoyance at the interruption. After a moment's pause, she responded.

"Yes?"

"We're going to Diagon Alley. Want to come?" It was definitely not a warm invitation. Ginny had been cold towards her for the past week, though Hermione probably deserved it a little.

"No thanks. I have a book I want to finish," she fibbed, but the excuse was easily accepted, and after a few noisy moments, the house reached a whole new level of silence.

At first, it was enjoyable. But after twenty minutes or so, Hermione found herself tiring of the solitude she had craved. A sudden thunderclap made her jump, and as the rain poured down outside, she pulled on some shoes and wandered downstairs, intending to make a little tea. Doing something could ward off the loneliness, perhaps.

What met her in the kitchen instead was Harry, water dripping off of him. She smirked a little when sparks jumped out of his wand instead of the drying spell, and she coolly remarked,

"You'd think the Boy-Who-Lived could dry his own clothes."

Harry's only response was a strange, almost sneering, expression, and Hermione raised her eyebrows at the unexpected reaction. Had she managed to infuriate him too?

"Here, let me do it," she offered, hoping to make up for her snide remark by performing the spell herself. He politely thanked her, but still retreated for the stairs.

Before she could stop herself, she burst out, "Wait just a second, Harry!"

"What is it?" She tried not to notice the unemotional delivery of his reply.

"I just…" she hesitated. What did she actually want? "I just thought maybe we could talk. It seems like it's been a while since we last spent some time together." She finished lamely, a small hopeful smile on her face. So maybe she'd been avoiding everyone and so had he, but really, she missed her time with Harry, and judging by his reaction, he'd missed their friendship too.

He nodded, and they sat down on a pair of stools, Hermione's plans of making tea forgotten. Even without actually speaking, a little snatched time with Harry was so refreshing Hermione could hardly bear it.

The sound of rain beating against the house, along with a few creaks and knocks here and there was noise enough, and Hermione was startled when Harry suddenly asked,

"Where are the Weasleys?"

"Family visit to George, or something," she replied quickly, as it was her best guess beyond 'Diagon Alley.' Harry wasn't fooled by the vague answer—she was never one to forget the details and he knew it.

"Or something?" He teased, smiling a little now.

"I was a little preoccupied when they told me," she replied, crossing her arms. She knew he meant no harm, but she was so used to being on the defensive with Ron…force of habit, really.

"What?" she added, noticing the grin on his face.

"I just thought it was funny that something could distract you so much that you would forget something."

"I'm not allowed to think about other things, then? Is that it?" She wasn't really upset. In fact, she was borderline flattered by the fact he noticed her habits at all.

Once again, she was hit with a wave of relief—it was so much easier talking to Harry than it was to try and converse with Ron. She smiled warmly at him, but stopped short of saying anything else; he seemed startled by something. Maybe he was doing some real thinking, she nearly teased, but she never quite brought herself to say anything. Then, out of nowhere,

"Thanks," Harry said, softly and with an impossible amount of meaning. Brushing aside the fluttering feelings, Hermione nodded, and (to keep away suspicion) asked,

"For what?"

"For being there, I guess." He seemed about as solid in his explanation as she had in hers, and Hermione was relieved to see that they were both terrible at this elaboration of emotions thing.

Still, it was the nicest thing he had told her in years.

"Harry, you know I'm your friend. You don't have to thank me." She probably was expected to say that.

"I know." He smiled, slightly embarrassed(?), and Hermione was so glad to see him expressing emotion that she hopped off her stool and engulfed him in a hug.

"What was that for?" she thought she heard him ask into her hair, and she hugged him tighter.

"For caring, of course!"

She pulled away, grinning up at him, her hand still holding his arm affectionately. Her eyes wandered to the right of his head, and she noticed the sunshine peeking through the windows.

"It's stopped raining, by the way," she added, and wordlessly agreed to take a walk outside with Harry.

He gripped her hand in an almost childlike fashion, and they ambled aimlessly past the garden.

Hermione vaguely noticed that the sparkling greenery made her think about Harry's eyes, but brushed it off as he told her a story about the first time he and Ron had tried to de-gnome the garden.

She'd always loved the effect summer showers had on the scenery, and now Hermione had another reason to appreciate it.

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End.

Remember, reviews make me happy! Hopefully another chapter of Potential will be up soon.


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